3
by A. Tenmeadows
Summary: When Emily's cousin Santana meets her new girlfriend, she proposes an idea that's surprisingly appealing. PLL Crossover. Santana/Emily/Paige, 3-shot. Femslash. Don't like, don't read.


**Hiya! Sorry I've been absent from the fanfiction world lately. I just moved into a new apartment with my girlfriend and I added a Creative Writing class to my schedule, so I've essentially been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Now that I have some downtime (i.e. working at the help desk in the library at 11 pm), here's a little crossover drabble that's been bouncing around my head for a minute.**

**Enjoy. : )**

I'm always nervous about introducing Santana to new people.

Sure, we're first cousins and we're incredibly close, but she has a tendency to alienate everyone she meets within the first few sentences of conversation. For example, during her last visit, I introduced Santana to Spencer when she came to pick me up from school. She came home with a black eye and the flushed imprint of a palm across her left cheek. Santana still maintains that Spencer was the one who started the fight, but considering the fact that I was there when she flippantly tossed out the words "trust fund baby", I can say that she definitely had a hand in what happened between them.

Now, I'm more nervous than I've ever been. Santana flew in yesterday morning from Ohio to spend the week with my family, and Paige is coming over tonight to work on our Unbalanced Forces project for AP Physics. My cousin has no idea that Paige and I have gone from sworn enemies to inseparable lovers, and I've intentionally left that out of our bi-weekly phone conversations for a reason. Putting the two of them in the same room together for more than sixty seconds could more than likely turn into World War III.

"Hey, Em," Santana grins at me as she enters my bedroom.

Her long tendrils of dark hair are damp from the shower she just took in my adjoining bathroom, and she's wearing one of my Rosewood Sharks Swim Team tees and a pair of basketball shorts. I'll never understand how, even in such a natural moment as this, she always manages to look like something right out of Vogue. I set down the copy of Happy Accidents by Jane Lynch that I bought at the bookstore last week and cross my legs underneath myself. She plops down on my navy blue comforter and stretches out on her stomach across the foot of my bed.

"I have a question for you," she says playfully.

Oh no. "What's up, Santi?"

"Do you think your friend Hanna 'plays for both teams'?"

I almost laugh in her face at the question. Hanna has been boy-crazy ever since her first kiss with Brandon Donahue in the fourth grade. She's so wrapped up in Caleb right now that I doubt she'd even believe the sky was blue unless he said so.

"No way, Santi. She's as straight as an arrow."

"Damn," Santana answers before turning on her side so that she can face me. "We would've been hot together."

Santana was the first person I ever came out to. And likewise, when she was publicly outted in Ohio because of that bitch Sue Sylvester, I was the first person she called. Ever since, we've shared some unspoken bond. It's like we're the only witches in a world full of Muggles.

"I don't know. I think Spencer might be more your type," I smirk at her from my place at the head of the mattress.

"That snot-nosed _perra _I beat the shit out of the last time I was here?!" Santana wrinkles her nose and shivers in disgust. "I'd wring her neck before I could ask her out!"

"C'mon, Santana," I giggle knowingly. "She's got almost as much fight in her as you do. You know that kind of passion would make for some really hot sex…"

My cousin's eyes glaze over when the word 'sex' passes my lips and I can tell by her slight smile that she's thinking of all pleasurable battles for dominance she could have in bed with Spencer. This causes me to release the hearty laugh I've been holding in, and Santana joins me with a good-natured chuckle.

"True. The girl's got fire," she admits, shrugging her shoulders.

I simply smile at her indifference. We both know that no matter how many willing girls Santana meets, she'll always turn back to her first love: Brittany Pierce. She's been Santana's girlfriend for over a year now, and I know by the way my cousin goes on about Brittany that she'd never stray. Santana's talk is big, but her heart will always belong to that blonde-haired, blue-eyed dancer back in Lima.

"What about you, Em? Anyone special got you going in circles?"

Oh shit. "Uhm, well…"

Santana sits up abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise. "No fucking way! Since when has my little Emmy had a crush?!"

I shift uncomfortably and smile weakly. "We've been together for about four months –"

Santana's confused now. Her eyebrows crease deeply and she regards me with an almost wounded look in her eyes. "We talk twice a week, Emily. Why haven't I heard about this before now?"

I stare down at my lap for a moment, lacing and unlacing my fingers in an attempt to avoid her gaze. "Because I knew that you'd want to meet her, and I know you don't play well with others—"

Santana folds her arms across her chest indignantly and huffs. "For the last time, the bitch stole my animal crackers, and I, just like the law says I should, used necessary force to get them back!"

I shake my head at the memory. When Santana was in kindergarten at Freedom Elementary in Lima, one of her classmates had mistakenly picked up her bag of animal crackers on the playground. Santana, in turn, picked up a red rubber dodge ball and proceeded to drill the girl in the head with it. This earned her a "does not play well with others" note on her behavior chart and a running joke in the Lopez-Fields family.

"And besides, you and I both know Mrs. Bouerhill was totally a white supremacist!"

"She was South African, Santana," I deadpan as I continue to stare at her.

"Last time I checked, Emmy, the Dutch colonized South Africa. And what are the Dutch if they're not white?" Santana reasons with a shit-eating grin on her face. She's sure she has me backed into a corner, but I have an ace up my sleeve.

"Brittany's Dutch. Is she a white supremacist?"

Silence.

"Now that we've settled that," I say, pantomiming washing my hands of that line of conversation. "Paige is coming over tonight to work on a project. I want you to be on your best behavior. Got it, Santi?"

Santana buries her face in the fabric of my comforter and grumbles in annoyance, and I know that's the closest I'll get to confirmation. When I glance at the analog clock on my bedside table, the hands read 6:38.

T minus twenty-two minutes to the McCullers-Lopez showdown… And I'm in no way prepared for what could happen.

**This is my very first crossover fiction, so please review and tell me what you think. The second part should be up after work tomorrow, so stay tuned. A. Tenmeadows, out. : )**


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